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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23397955">Of injuries and other pains</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc'>ylc</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Insecurity, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Pining, Whump, but nothing graphic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 16:47:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,885</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23397955</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not that Geralt doesn’t want anyone taking care of him.<br/>It’s just that no one has wanted to before.</p><p>My contribution to the FTH 2020 auction</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>420</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Fandom Trumps Hate 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Of injuries and other pains</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaraJade/gifts">MaraJade</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, here's my contribution for the FTH 2020 auction. A million thanks to the lovely Holly (MaraJade on AO3) for their very generous donation :)<br/>The prompt was some Geralt!whump with Jaskier taking care of him. I think I might have strayed away a bit from the original prompt but my bidder did like it so... yay! ;) The fic is mostly canon compliant with some missing scenes and I changed the ending a bit (after Geralt goes to Cintra). Hopefully it's not confussing?<br/>I hope you'll enjoy it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Geralt is six and he’s in a lot of pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know it yet, but pain will become his bread and water from this point forward. From this day on, there won’t be a day when he’s not in pain of some kind; from now on there’ll be no respite to the neverending hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he doesn’t know that yet and so he screams and cries and no one comes to help or soothe or just </span>
  <em>
    <span>be there</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He’s alone, with no one to turn to even for comfort and so he just screams and cries a little louder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He eventually passes out, the pain too great for his body to continue to endure while awake and that’s a relief.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Geralt is sixteen and by now he’s made his peace with his lot in life. Acceptance wasn’t easy and, in all truth, he’s more </span>
  <em>
    <span>resigned</span>
  </em>
  <span> to it than anything else. He doesn’t want this life, but he also has figured out there’s no way out of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he endures. He braces himself for the inevitable pain time and time again and becomes better at pretending he’s not hurt, sometimes even managing to fool himself. It doesn’t always work, sometimes the pain is still too much even for his mutated body, but all in all--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well. He’s surviving and that counts for something, doesn’t it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t mean he doesn’t curl in bed at night, feeling hurt and so desperately lonely, aching for something he knows he can not have and yet he can not help but desperately want: someone to soothe his hurt and make it all better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But alas, that’s not something a Witcher can aspire to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he’s made his peace with that too.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The first five years of traveling are the hardest, Geralt thinks. He had got used to the physical pain of hunting and he had got used to the often cold disinterest of his peers, but he was not prepared for the humans’ plain hatred.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows he’s different from them. He can even understand why they’d be wary of him. But he asked for none of this and he’s not sure how to make them understand that. The day will come when he’ll realize that humans will only ever see him as a monster, not much different from those he hunts and that there’s not a single thing he can do that will make them change their mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But in those first few years-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>he tries so hard. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He never quite lose hope of finding someone who’d understand him, someone who’d care for him and comfort him and now that he’s out in the big wide world, away from other Witchers who might want the same he does but who are just as (or more) emotionally stunned as himself and so have no way of providing it, he had hoped--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But alas, some things are not meant to be.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Over the years, Geralt travels and meets a lot of people, but he never finds what (who) he’s looking for. He becomes world weary, his hopes dying a slow painful death although he barely notices, used as he is to pain by now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he travels and he hunts and he gets hurt. He collects his coin, tends to his own wounds and restarts the circle all over again. He’s vaguely aware he’s becoming too cynical and perhaps a tad cruel, that he’s building up walls that even if someone was inclined to try, would never be able to go over them. But above all, he’s a survivor and he’s aware he’s only doing what he must, in order to survive in this cruel, terrible world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries telling himself he’s fine on his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deep down, he never does believe it.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Meeting Jaskier is--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well. Geralt doesn’t think he has the proper words to describe what meeting the bard means to him. True, at first he’s mostly annoyed by him and he doesn’t really like him, not for the first few months of traveling together (or rather of the bard insisting on following him around) He tries to shake off his troublesome companion time and time again, with different degrees of success and eventually he figures it’s not worth the hassle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he doesn’t like him, you see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except he eventually does. Jaskier has an uncanny ability to endear himself to most people, even to those like Geralt who humans claim has no feelings whatsoever. Geralt knows he has feelings (in fact he has too many) but he had thought he had managed to bury them deep within.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier keeps bringing them forward, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, Geralt is careful to keep his cards close to his chest, careful about speaking of his heart too often. He doesn’t really talk to Jaskier, you see, mostly contenting himself with grunts and hums, but that never seems to discourage the other man, who eventually becomes quite adept on reading Geralt’s expressions, understanding his thoughts sometimes even better than Geralt himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It ought to be troubling and yet somehow it isn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s presence soothes a wound deep seated inside the Witcher’s heart, a wound he has learned to ignore but that he had lost all hope it’d ever heal. He still doesn’t think it will, but at least it hurts less and that’s more than enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or so he keeps telling himself.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“You’re hurt!” Jaskier exclaims, expression agash, taking Geralt hand in his. The Witcher’s first instinct is to pull away, but the bard keeps a tight hold on him and so he eventually stops trying to get him to let go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a flesh wound,” he points out, because</span>
  <em>
    <span> it is</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He hadn’t even noticed it; in fact hadn’t Jaskier mentioned it, he wouldn’t have at all. The cut runs across the back of his hand, but it’s not deep and it certainly doesn’t guarantee the level of fuss Jaskier is bestowing upon him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier huffs, rolling his eyes dramatically as he sets to work. It’s late at night, the only light provided by the small fire they builded earlier, before Geralt went searching for something to eat and so hardly ideal if the wound was as life threatening as Jaskier is making it sound, but good enough for the scratch it actually is. The bard however cleans it slowly and carefully, as if he actually believes it’s any threat to Geralt’s well being.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no need for all that,” Geralt tells him when his companion tries to wrap his hand up in a clean bandage and Jaskier finally relents, letting him go. “There was no need for any of that,” he adds, perhaps a tad sulkily, unsure of how he feels about the other man’s fussing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Jaskier replies softly with a shrug. “I just-- I worry, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He does. He doesn’t understand it and he certainly doesn’t know what to do with that knowledge, but Geralt does know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so he grunts in lieu of an answer.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>It’s not that Geralt doesn’t want anyone taking care of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s just that no one has wanted to before. He’s been shown very little kindness in his long life and usually with the expectancy of being paid back, which in turn has made him distrust instantaneously anyone who is kind to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So it comes as a bit of a surprise the fact that he does trust Jaskier’s intentions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To be fair, they’ve known each other for a while now, but looking back, Geralt realizes he always did. He might have been harsh and distant at first, but he was never wary of the other man’s intentions. It’s like, deep down, he always knew there was nothing to worry about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The realization sits heavy in his stomach as he half-listens to the other man’s endless tirade of small talk. He trusts Jaskier, has trusted him instinctively from the very beginning and he doesn’t know what to do with that knowledge. It feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>big, </span>
  </em>
  <span>important even and yet--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t have to change anything at all, Geralt tells himself. In fact, it’s better if he pretends he never came to this revelation, if he forgets all the confusing things it makes him feel. It won’t be an easy feat, but it’s doable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or so he hopes.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“Why didn’t your sorceress</span>
  <em>
    <span> friend </span>
  </em>
  <span>patch you up anyway?” Jaskier asks, sounding mildly annoyed as he looks through his bag in search of something. “You look a right fright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt grunts, examining his mostly healed wound. Triss had patched him up and given him a couple of potions for the pain after the fight with the </span>
  <span>Striga and then had sent him merrily on his way. He had seen nothing wrong with this, in fact he had thought the sorceress had gone way out of her way to be helpful, but Jaskier doesn’t seem to share his idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” he tells him when the bard approaches him, armed with a small vial of what Geralt can smell is some form of healing salve. “That’s not necessary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On the contrary, my dear Witcher,” Jaskier argues calmly, starting to apply it over the worst of the bruises on his chest. “I’m glad we ran into each other so soon. What would you do without me around?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Travel faster and lighter,” Geralt replies. “Get more jobs too, probably.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier huffs. “Do not forget who's paying for our room for the night,” he murmurs. “You could do with some decent sleep in a soft bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bed at the inn isn’t particularly soft, but Geral thinks it’d be ungrateful of him to mention it. And he does appreciate Jaskier’s help, he just doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. “I’m glad we ran into each other too,” he concedes finally, voice so soft it’s barely audible and Jaskier offers him a knowing smile, a happy glint in his eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll have to tell me the full story tomorrow,” Jaskier tells him, going back to rummaging through his bag. “I can hardly compose a song with what you’ve given me so far.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt rolls his eyes, but doesn’t protest. He knows he will and pretending that he won’t will only make Jaskier smile smugly at him later, when he does tell him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s that?” Geralt asks, as Jaskier produces another vial, this one with a sort of foul-smelling cream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I know, smells awful,” the bard says, applying it over Geralt’s newest wound on his shoulder. “But it should stop the skin from scarring too badly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt arches an eyebrow, amused. “Do I look like someone who cares about scars?” he asks pointing at the rest of his chest which is literally covered in them. Jaskier blinks, as if he truly had failed to consider that and Geralt ignores the curious feeling spreading across his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, no, I suppose you don’t,” Jaskier murmurs softly, but continues applying the cream. “But that was before you had me to look after you,” he adds decisively. “There’ll be no more scars, not on my watch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s hand lingers over his shoulder, familiar and gentle and Geralt considers the feeling curling in his gut at the warm touch. It’s not lust, he doesn’t think. He’s more or less familiar with how lust feels, even if most of his encounters are paid for and he’s fairly certain this isn’t like this. It’s similar and it does leave his blood singing, but--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks up at Jaskier and finds the bard watching him closely, a expression he can not decipher on his face. It makes his blood burn and the feeling in his gut intensifies, but Geralt does not dare to move, suddenly unsure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose that means you intend to travel with me once again?” he says finally, breaking the tense silence, ignoring the tightness in his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier sighs dramatically. “I suppose I have little choice. You’re a menace to yourself, Geralt of Rivia. I need to keep a close eye on you.” He smiles, full of fondness and something else Geralt doesn’t dare to name and Geralt thinks he really </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>wants to taste that smile. Oh, he thinks he wouldn’t mind pulling the other man close to him and press him down on the not-so-soft mattress, but desire is not what makes him ache when he looks at that smile, or at least it’s not all there is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feelings are very confusing and for the most part, Geralt has decided he wants nothing to do with them, so he doesn’t allow himself to analyze it further. He pulls away, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach when Jaskier drops his hand to his side and he tells himself it’s just the tiredness speaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he somehow doesn’t really believe it.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>There’s no actual need for Jaskier to fuss over him. The selkimore was troublesome, but he didn’t actually get hurt. He’s dirty, of course, but he’s not in pain and Jaskier rubbing chamomile over his sore body is rather lovely, but it’s not necessary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s even less necessary for him to be quite so </span>
  <em>
    <span>through </span>
  </em>
  <span>with his massage, but Geralt is not about to complain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He does enjoy the feeling of being cared for, he might go as far as to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>he craves it</span>
  </em>
  <span> but at the same time it leaves him feeling wrong footed, off kilter. He knows there is no hidden agenda with Jaskier (his request to accompany him to the banquet does not count; they both know Geralt would even if Jaskier wasn’t being so damn helpful right now), but that only adds to his sense of </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrongness.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been so long since someone cared for him, since someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved </span>
  </em>
  <span>him (if someone ever did, if his mother’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> can be called that) that he feels like he’s drowning half of the time, simultaneously wanting to really sink into the feeling and being terrified of doing it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He likes Jaskier’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>fussing. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But he doesn’t think he’ll ever admit it.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe someone out there will want you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jaskier had said.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Do </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>you</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> want me? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Geralt had meant to ask, but had quickly pushed the thought away before he could speak it aloud. Geralt does not know what the bard’s answer would be, but he also doesn’t think he really wants to know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he had spewed some nonsense about not needing anyone and not wanting to be needed, which is a lot of bullshit and he’s certain Jaskier knows it but at the same time--</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And yet here we are, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jaskier had said and it had felt like an answer to the question Geralt wouldn’t ask, except it’s not, because if he allows himself to start twisting the facts to fit the story he wants to tell himself about what’s going on here, it won’t end well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To be fair, in all likelihood this acquaintance won’t end well in any case, but now is not the time to be thinking about that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deep down, Geralt is still looking for that someone to soothe his pain, both physical and emotional. But maybe not, because if he’s honest with himself, he might have already found them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he won’t say a word about it.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>
    <span>So much for keeping a close eye on me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Geralt thinks sulkily as he cleans his own wound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not easy, seeing this time around it happens to be on his back, but he manages it to the best of his ability. He’s gone soft, he thinks annoyedly, coming to depend on a </span>
  <em>
    <span>companion </span>
  </em>
  <span>for something as vital as cleaning his wounds. If the wound gets infected, he’s likely to catch his death and so learning to clean them even when they happened to be in impractical places, was one of the first lessons he learned and yet, lulled by some false sense of safeness, he has mostly forgotten it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closes his eyes, ignoring the stinging feeling in the back of his mind. He had been foolish, thinking Jasker would actually stick around, thinking he wouldn’t find himself someone else to keep him entertained. Of course he doesn’t blame him, of course he understands that literally anyone else in the world is a better choice of companion than a bloody Witcher, of course he knows why Jaskier would pick the lovely Countess of Stael over him but--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It stings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs, running his fingers through his hair. He thinks he’s done well, all things considered but while the wound in his back might not longer hurt, the one in the center of his heart still does. It’s pathetic, truly, to be heartbroken: he knew full well it could never be and yet--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’ll never learn, it seems.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Next time, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks, next time he won’t be fooled. The next time he runs into Jaskier he won’t allow himself to daydream of things that can not be, never mind the bard’s sweet words. He’s not meant for companionship and there’s no use on pretending otherwise.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Next time, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Assuming there’s a next time, of course.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>At first, Geralt thinks he might be hallucinating. He does not remember the last time he slept, he does not care to remember. His sleep has been fitful, his mind uncentered. Foolish to allow his </span>
  <em>
    <span>feelings </span>
  </em>
  <span>to have so much control over him, foolish to continue pursuing the useless line of thought of a hundred </span>
  <em>
    <span>what ifs. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But he can not help himself and so he finds himself resorting to </span>
  <em>
    <span>drastic measures</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course hunting for such drastic measures puts him back in the path of the reason of his sleepless nights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I fear I shall die a brokenhearted man,” Jaskier is saying and it occurs Geralt maybe this isn’t an hallucination. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You and me both, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks, but doesn’t say. “ Oh, are we not using "friend"? Let's just give it another decade.” Jaskier continues, relentless, unaware of Geralt’s plight and he truly is no mood to talk to him, </span>
  <em>
    <span>he’s angry at him </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he knows he has no right, he knows it’s not fair, he knows that’s not the way to go and yet--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows it’s not fair. But he doesn’t feel like being fair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not at all.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Jaskier is quiet in the aftermath of the whole mess with the djinn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s only natural, Geralt thinks, a brush with death is not something to be taken lightly. He might be somewhat used to it, his line of work being what it is and yet he imagines it must be life-changing for someone like Jaskier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he can’t help thinking that’s not it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because with Jaskier’s insistence to follow him around, this isn’t the first time he’s seen death up so close. Oh, sure, this is the first time when there was an actual chance of him dying because the last few times he could have counted on Geralt saving him, but--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s something else, he fears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stop at another town the following night. Geralt is still very much in need of a decent night of sleep, but neither of them had wanted to linger after the djinn was gone. He can’t help feeling like they should be having a conversation, the air tense between them, a hundred of unspoken words hanging heavily in the air, but Geralt does not know how to begin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me look at your injuries,” Jaskier orders, his voice resonating in the too quiet room. Geralt does not believe his few bruises and scratches really merit any attention, but he obeys, not wanting to argue. He sits on the bed and lets Jaskier take assessment of him, doing his best not to flinch when the bard presses on a particularly tender bruise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You truly are a menace, Geralt,” he points out, fishing for his healing salve inside his bag. “A building collapses on top of you and what do you do? Not what any normal person would do and </span>
  <em>
    <span>get the hell out of there</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but have a nice little fumble with the witch that brought the building down in the first place.” He’s angry, that’s easy enough to tell, but Geralt can’t exactly see why. He understands the bard might have been worried, that he might have thought him dead and yet--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something akin to guilt curls in his gut and Geralt can not explain that either. What does he feel guilty about, anyway? For worrying Jaskier? Or maybe--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks of the ugly feeling that had been rearing its head at points, ever since Jaskier left him to pursue his Countess. He thinks of the feeling that always curls in his belly when he stares at Jaskier for long, when the bard is being particularly sweet or endearing. He thinks both feelings might be somewhat related and he thinks they might have something to do with his guilt, but he does not allow himself to think long about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” he grunts instead, but basks in the warm feeling of Jaskier’s hands on him. He’s gentle as ever, </span>
  <em>
    <span>caring </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Geralt can’t help thinking back to his brief… </span>
  <em>
    <span>whatever </span>
  </em>
  <span>with Yennefer. He had known not to trust her, he had known she was lying all along and yet it had felt so nice to be looked after-- he should have kept his guard up, he shouldn’t have allowed her to lull him into that sense of security and yet--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well. It’s not matter, not anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He must not be foolish again, he must keep in mind that he’s not made for company. He must not forget again that, at the end of the day, it’s just him and the path extending in front of him and, lonely as it might be, that’s his lot in life and there’s no changing it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier hums to himself as he continues rubbing the healing salve a little aimlessly, since there are no real wounds he needs to concern himself with. Geralt thinks the other man must have known that before he demanded to see them, but it begs the question why would he bother with all this if that’s the case. There are few people who are willing to endure being close to him, let alone this close and yet--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks of Yennefer once more and of their last few minutes together. That was more adrenaline than passion, relief at having escaped death despite all odds. There never was any real </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>in her, not for him anyway and while it had been a </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice fumble </span>
  </em>
  <span>as Jaskier had so aptly described it, she hadn’t actually wanted him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe someone out there will want you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jaskier had said not so long ago. And looking at Jaskier, he can’t help but wonder.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Do you want me? </span>
  </em>
  <span>he longs to ask, but it’s a too loaded question to ask so casually and given… well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he’s not sure if Jaskier would understand and even if he did, he’s not sure if he’d answer truthfully. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Foolish, </span>
  </em>
  <span>to even </span>
  <em>
    <span>consider</span>
  </em>
  <span> asking. Even if Jaskier answers truthfully, feelings are ever changing. His answer might be true </span>
  <em>
    <span>now, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but there’s no guarantee it’ll continue to be in the future.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He must stop this useless line of thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yet--</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Geralt tries and fails to ignore the gaping wound in his chest. He feels like he’s been stabbed and yet, he’s actually been stabbed before and it hadn’t hurt quite like this. He feels raw inside and there’s an urge to lash out that he can’t control. He’s hurt and he wants the whole world to hurt with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier takes it all in stride, as he always has, as he probably always will if Geralt lets him. But he deserves so much better, there’s no need for him to continue looking after Geralt. It’s not fair to continue to ask him to pick up the broken pieces, to keep soothing Geralt’s many physical and emotional hurts. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He wants him to, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but he can’t ask that of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he chases him away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt sits atop of the mountain and does something he hasn’t done in many, many years. When you cry and cry and no one comes to help or soothe, you learn there’s no use on shedding any tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But this once, he can’t stop them from falling.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Nothing like a war to keep you distracted and nothing like finally deciding to listen to destiny to get you in all sort of trouble. The truth is Geralt does not blame Queen Calanthe or her husband for wanting to protect their grandchild, but their antics do annoy him a great deal. Idly, he wonders what it’d be like, having someone so </span>
  <em>
    <span>desperate</span>
  </em>
  <span> to keep you, but it’s the sort of thought that does nothing but hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows he could take the young Princess by force, but that’s the sort of thing that’s bound to cost him greatly in the long run. So better to wait, for either the Queen to come to her senses or for fate to force her hand. Either way, he knows he won’t be leaving Cintra any time soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting all alone with just your thoughts for company in a dusty dungeon is rather counterproductive to stop you from thinking hurtful thoughts, though and so Geralt’s thoughts keep running in circles over and over again. He can not forget all the horrible things he told Jaskier on that blasted mountain, not even with the benefit of time and distance between them and the more time he spends in Cintra, the more he finds himself thinking of the bard.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe someone out there will want you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jaskier had told him the last time they were here and it’s occurring Geralt maybe he was telling him something. Maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>and yet, here we are </span>
  </em>
  <span>was indeed an answer to the question Geralt didn’t know he was asking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that was so long ago. And now it’s too late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rubs his chest absentmindedly, chasing away the phantom pain. He’s been hurting for so long that he does not remember a time when he didn’t. But it had been different when Jaskier had been around, it had been almost</span>
  <em>
    <span> bearable.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>But you never know what you have until you’ve lost it.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>This is not the first time Geralt has gone into a fight where the sheer number of his opponents make his survival unlikely. This time however, he fears he won’t actually survive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As usual, instinct takes over as he fights and he soon loses track of time and space: there’s nothing but him and his swords in this deadly dance where is kill or be killed. He’s completely unaware of his body, losing tracks of the many injuries he suffered and by the time soldiers finally stop coming at him, he’s covered in blood both his and his opponents’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Considering the sheer number of soldiers lying dead at his feet, he thinks he didn’t do that badly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are a couple of worrisome wounds though, particularly the one on his thigh. Someone managed to run him through and so the wound bleeds freely. Without any adrenaline running through his veins, the pain is settling in and the world is getting fuzzy at the edges.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s about to pass out, it seems.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he does pass out though, he’s likely to die. Either to blood loss or infection or another enemy passing by and deciding to make sure everyone who looks dead </span>
  <em>
    <span>is actually dead</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He must continue moving, if nothing else he must get out of the city, but--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leans against a wall, the world spinning way too fast. He takes a couple of deep breaths, willing himself to move but his body refuses to listen. Someone grabs him by the arm and Geralt snarls, but his sword clatters against the ground when he tries to lift it and he knows he’s done for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For so long he avoided his destiny and now it seems he’ll die without fulfilling it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop it, you big brute,” Jaskier says, wrapping an arm around Geralt’s waist, encouraging him to wrap his own around the bard’s shoulders and to lean against him. “We need to get out of here, fast.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not really here,” Geralt says, leaning against him, almost making the other man fall down. “You’re a nice hallucination, though,” he continues, the lack of blood making his tongue feel clumsy but his thoughts less guarded. “I wish the real you was here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier looks at him from the corner of his eye and then shakes his head, seemingly deciding not to answer. Geralt scowls, thinking it’s not fair his hallucination is staying quiet: Jaskier wasn’t silent one minute in his whole life and so the quiet makes the ilusion more evidently false.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world is getting steadily darker though, so Geralt figures it won’t matter for much longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon nothing will matter at all.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>When Geralt wakes up, the first thing he notices is that he’s no longer dying. The wound in his thigh has been wrapped up in a bandage and it aches dully, signaling it’s starting to heal. He’s mostly naked, lying on a sleeping cot under a couple of light blankets. He’s shivering, but that’s result of the low temperature and not of a fever, or at least he thinks so. He pulls the blankets closer to himself, unwilling to worry much about how he ended up like this, especially considering his last memories involve coming to terms with his inevitable death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hears someone coming closer and he sits up immediately, his instincts overriding his tiredness and pain. Jaskier stands at the edge of the clearing he’s in, looking at him him with a wide-eyed, concerned expression and Geralt’s heart skips a beat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t hallucinating, it seems.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing here?” he asks, before he can stop himself. There are more pressing concerns like where are they and how they managed to escape the Nilfgaardian army so far,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>but that’s the first question to actually pop into his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier flinches almost imperceptibly, looking away. “Looking after you, obviously,” the younger man replies softly, approaching him and kneeling on the ground, removing the blankets so he can check on his wound. “Since you clearly are incapable of doing so yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt huffs. “I don’t--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need no one,” Jaskier interrupts. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I also know that’s a bunch of horseshit: if it wasn’t for me, you’d be dead already.” He’s… </span>
  <em>
    <span>angry, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Geralt thinks, but his tone is at odds with his actions. For someone so clearly vexed, his touch is gentle and caring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt reaches out, stopping his motions by grabbing his wrist. “Why are you here?” he asks, because he figures that’s the right question. Jaskier bites his lip, avoiding his eye. “After-- after we parted ways the last time, I didn’t think I’d see you again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier snorts, shaking his head, undoing the bandage to check on the wound underneath. He’s carrying a small pouch with water, Geralt notices then and he uses it to clean the dry blood. “I tried to stay away from you,” Jaskier confesses softly, rummaging through the small bag he’s carrying too. “But when I hear about Nilfgaard advancing toward Cintra-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>I had to come,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he says, earnest and pained. “I just couldn’t-- I knew you’d come. And I couldn’t let you do it alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Why?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Geralt doesn’t mean to sound accusing, knowing full well it’s not fair at all, but he can’t help it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier sighs, finally meeting his eye. “Do you honestly can’t imagine why?” he asks, tone soft and slightly hurt. Geralt looks away, unable to hold the other man’s stare: he thinks he knows, but even now he finds it hard to believe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he replies instead, although his words lack any real conviction. Jaskier huffs, shaking his head before turning his attention back to the wound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do know,” the bard whispers softly after a beat. “You just don’t believe someone would actually care for you.” Geralt hisses, Jaskier pressing lightly on the wound as he cleans it but he’s not in pain, not really. It’s a distraction and he pleads his companion will take the bait, although he also knows it’s unlikely. “Why don’t you believe I care?” Jaskier asks, sounding upset.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt sighs. It’s a long and complicated story, one he’s not entirely sure he wants to share, at least not fully. “Why would you?” he challenges instead and Jaskier levels him with a look that suggests Geralt is being deliberately dense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why wouldn’t I?” the bard shots back, staring at him directly in the eye once more. “I care for you, Geralt. I-- well, this is not how I wanted to tell you, if I ever told you, but I suppose you know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you must know </span>
  </em>
  <span>that I-- that-- I love you,” he says finally and Geralt’s heart comes to an abrupt stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks he always knew on some level, but he’s totally unprepared for the actual confession. “Don’t lie to me,” he hisses, somewhere between angry and hurt. He does not want to believe it, he can’t afford to believe it and at the same time, he’s well aware all the evidence points at Jaskier telling the truth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier looks at him, expression sad and heartbroken and then he shakes his head, returning his attention to the injury, wrapping it up in a clean bandage. “It’s no matter,” he says softly once he’s done, standing up. “What matters right now is that I’m here and you’re in need of help so-- I’m going to take care of you. And I leave once you’re healed, if that’s what you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s not what Geralt wants, he’s never wanted that but-- “I can not lie still,” he says, because that’s safer ground, he thinks. “I need to find the Princess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” Jaskier murmurs, nodding. “Right. Well, I’ll help you find her and then I’ll leave, if that’s what you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt thinks they both know that’s not what either of them want and he’s not sure what to make of Jaskier’s willingness to pretend otherwise. “You need to rest right now, though,” the bard says after a beat. “It was a nasty injury and I know you heal fast, but you need a little time. These roads have never been particularly safe, particularly not now and you’ll need your strength.” He smiles a bit self deprecating. “You know I’m a little useless when it comes to fighting. A burden, more than any real help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not, he’s truly not and they both know it. All those cruel, hurtful words Geralt spewed at him at the mountain aren’t true, but somehow he can’t bring himself to say it out loud. He ought to apologize, he ought to fall onto his knees and beg for Jaskier’s forgiveness but--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier is looking at him, as if expecting something but finally he looks away, chewing on his lip, looking disappointed but not surprised. Geralt imagines that one does not spend decades with someone without learning a few things about them and Jaskier is all too familiar with the Witcher’s shortcomings. It doesn’t make it right, in fact it might just make it much worse, but Jaskier does understand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks down at his injured tight, biting his lip gently. He thinks he should be feeling much better by the next morning, which will give them the chance to get moving once more. Staying put is not the safest thing in the world, but Jaskier is right: traveling like this is only much more risky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closes his eyes, willing himself to relax. The more he sleeps the sooner he’ll get his strength back and the sooner they can get moving. And once they’re on the move, the less likely he’s to get too emotional. The longer they stay still, the higher the chance he’ll end up confessing things he does not want to confess, peace and quiet have never been any good to his emotional state since ignoring his emotions is much more harder when there aren’t any other pressing matters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hears Jaskier sighing as he disappears back into the woods. He’s going in search of something to eat, no doubt and Geralt feels a little guilty for not helping at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Who’s the burden?</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks bitterly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the answer is </span>
  <em>
    <span>neither, </span>
  </em>
  <span>not really. Both are perfectly fine traveling on their own, but the road is much more pleasant not walking alone. They don’t quite need one another, but they want to be with each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now if he only could admit it out loud--</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“You’re pushing yourself,” Jaskier accuses and Geralt grunts in response. Roach makes a soft huffing sound, as if in agreement and Geralt grunts once again. There are too many trees on their way and the road isn’t exactly straight, so riding is out of the question and his leg is starting to protest at all this walking. He’s healed enough though and so there’s no need-- “Gods, but you’re stubborn!” Jaskier exclaims, coming to stand in front of him, extending his arms to stop him from walking any further. “You need to rest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t,” Geralt argues as calmly as he can although a flash of pain shooting from his leg betrays him, making him almost double over. “I’m fine,” he argues through clenched teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clearly,” Jaskier replies sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “You’ll be of no help to your Princess if you’re half dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt grunts. “If Nilfgaard catches up with her before I do, I’ll be no help either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “I just-- I’m worried about you. And I understand you don’t appreciate it, but I can’t help it so… just… let me take care of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt sighs. “I don’t want--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I want to,” Jaskier interrupts sharply. “I know you feel you need no one and I guess you’ve proven that much, but just because you don’t need me, it doesn’t mean I can’t help. So Geralt just… just let me help,” he finishes defeatedly and Geralt considers this briefly, all too aware of the pain on his leg. Roach pushes his shoulder lightly, as if in encouragement and he sighs, finally nodding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. We’ll stop,” he says, perhaps a tad sulkily and Jaskier’s relieved smile makes his heart flutter funnily in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” the bard says and Geralt thinks that if someone ought to be thanking someone, it should be the other way around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he’s never been too good at gratitude.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Before, when traveling together, Jaskier rarely stayed quiet, often even speaking in his sleep. Geralt didn’t expect things to go back to what they were, but he wasn’t expecting them to be this…</span>
  <em>
    <span> different</span>
  </em>
  <span>, either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier does not speak, except to point out that Geralt needs to rest. Even when Geralt tries to argue, Jaskier only offers him a look that makes him comply without further argument. It’s weird, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>before </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jaskier never lost the opportunity to </span>
  <em>
    <span>bicker </span>
  </em>
  <span>but now he seems disinclined to talk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt supposes he understands, but the silence hurts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The avance slowly through a nearly deserted road. It’s flat and wide enough for a small cart to travel through, but it seems no one has used it on a long while so Geralt thinks it’s safe. He could ride Roach, he supposes and it’d probably be better for his leg, but it feels cruel to make Jaskier walk after… well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks around, ignoring the way his chest feels like it’s constricting. This whole mess with Jaskier has made him a little overly emotional and so the sight of the empty road is affecting him in </span>
  <em>
    <span>ridiculous childish </span>
  </em>
  <span>ways and he tries not to think too much of it, but--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I can hear a stream close by,” Jaskier says suddenly, breaking him out of his thoughts. “I think I’ll go refill the pouch and I’ll meet you--” he’s already straying away from the road and panic seizes Geralt irrationally. His hand shoots out without any conscious thought on his part, stopping the bard by grabbing him by the wrist. “Geralt?” Jaskier asks, cautious. Not afraid, never afraid, but on edge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-- I’ll go with you. We shouldn’t separate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier stares at him, a light frown on his face, but finally he nods. He wants to ask, Geralt can tell, but he doesn’t and that somehow is worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They make their way slowly towards the stream. The water is clean and Roach is too happy to make a pause to drink. Geralt lowers himself on a rock carefully, mindful of his injury and watches as Jaskier refills his water pouch, expression thoughtful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should look at your wound while we’re here,” Jaskier says. “Clean it up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt nods, not wanting to argue. He undresses quickly and efficiently and watches as Jaskier sets to work. The wound is mostly healed by now, but it’s scarring and it itches a bit, although the pain had dulled considerably even after long walks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My mother was a healer,” he finds himself saying, not entirely sure on why. Jaskier looks up at him, eyes wide and surprised. It’s not much, but it’s more than Geralt has ever willingly shared of his past. “A sorceress, but she specialized on healing,” he adds, not quite meeting Jaskier’s eyes. “No one has taken care of me, ever since.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier doesn’t reply immediately, focusing on the wound and not looking at Geralt, probably sensing he can’t handle eye contact at the moment. “Is she-- what--?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One day, while we were traveling, she sent me to fetch water.” He clenches his fist, a flash of pain threatening to silence him. “When I went back… she wasn’t there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There. There are other things he could say, he supposes, but he thinks that summarizes things nicely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier considers this thoughtfully, not saying or doing anything for a while, eyes fixed on the wound. His fingers trace the already scarring tissue carefully, soft and gentle and it shouldn’t matter since the wound is almost healed now but somehow the touch is oddly comforting. “Did you ever wonder how is that we kept meeting? The continent is big and by all means, the chance of running into each other considering our very different professions and crowds is much slimmer than you probably think. But every time we parted ways, not even a month would go by without us meeting away. Why did you imagine it’s that, Geralt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the past, he had wondered about it a couple of times, before dismissing it as unimportant. He assumed it probably had something to do with some </span>
  <em>
    <span>pesky </span>
  </em>
  <span>destiny business, but then two years passed after the dragon hunt and they didn’t run into each other so Geralt began thinking it might have been something else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t really stop to </span>
  <em>
    <span>think </span>
  </em>
  <span>about it, though. He knew he wouldn’t like the answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Every time I left-- every single time-- I came back. And at first I thought maybe it was because you were… well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I meant what I said when we first met, you smell of danger and adventure and heartbreak and I wanted-- I wanted to be part of that. I thought it made life much more exciting. And it does, it really does, except I eventually realized there was more than that.” Jaskier closes his eyes, as if in pain. “I came back because I wanted to be with you. And trust me, the revelation was scary as </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>but I… the idea of not seeing you ever again was much scarier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt should say something, although he has no idea what. Jaskier told him he loved him just a few days ago, so really none of this should come as a surprise: it certainly shouldn’t make his heart beat so erratically in his chest, as if it’s about to burst, but it does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And by the end,” Jaskier continues and there’s a strain in his voice. “By the end I wouldn’t have left ever again. I finally was ready to </span>
  <em>
    <span>stay </span>
  </em>
  <span>for as long as you’d have me but of course that’s when it turned out that you had had enough of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hadn’t,” Geralt murmurs softly. “But I-- I’m not used to people staying, Jaskier. Not out of their own free will. And I thought-- I thought about going after you, looking for you but I-- I-- I </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but I</span>
  <em>
    <span> didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to need you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s much more complicated than that and the real extension of Geralt’s feelings is hard to explain, but it’s the best he can offer right now. It might be the best he’ll ever be able to offer: </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>are very different concepts, he’s aware but for him both are linked in some incomprehensible way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier sighs, shaking his head. “I understand where you are coming from. It doesn’t mean-- it doesn’t mean I’m not still hurting. I came back because I couldn’t stomach the idea of not being there in case you needed me, but I can’t stay-- I can’t stay if you’re unwilling to trust I will not leave you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s an interesting conundrum, Geralt thinks. He can not believe Jaskier will stay, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>why would he</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Jaskier can not stay because Geralt does not believe he will.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What a mess.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t-- I’m not sure I can do that,” he says, soft and defeated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geralt, I know-- I know you don’t want to believe me just to be disappointed when your fears are proven right. I know you don’t want to </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>me because it’s safer to count on no one but yourself. Trust me, I know the feeling all too well.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Staying, needing </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>being needed </span>
  </em>
  <span>is scaring as hell and it made me run more than once but I don’t want to keep running. I really don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the headache he can feel coming. Talking doesn’t come easy to him, emotions even less. He was fine before, on his own, with none of this </span>
  <em>
    <span>pesky emotions getting on the way </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he also knows that’s a bunch of horseshit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t promise you that,” he says finally and Jaskier nods, upset but unsurprised. “I can’t-- it’s not that easy. I need… I need some time,” he says, biting his lip. “It feels… unfair to ask you to give it to me, after everything, I don’t think--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want it?” Jaskier interrupts sharply, eyes filled with hope but also fear. “Time, I mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m only human,” the bard interrupts. “I won’t live as long as you. But if you’re willing Geralt-- that’s all I need. To know you’ll try. To know you won’t shut me out or send me away when things get difficult.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not a lot to ask, truly. And he wants-- he wants--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay,” he says finally, reaching out, grabbing Jaskier’s wrist gingerly. His companion looks at him, eyes alight with happiness and next thing he knows he’s being tackled to the ground, Jaskier’s arms around his neck, his face buried in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will,” the other man promises, tone gentle but firm. “I will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With time, Geralt thinks, he might grow to believe it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s halfway there, he suspects.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, thoughts anyone?<br/>Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!</p><p>Also, english is not my native language, so any mistakes you find, feel free to point them out!<br/>You can also find me in <a href="http://ylc1.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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